


Moving Forward

by NeriEsle



Series: The Real Events of Series 4 [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Post-The Final Problem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 03:39:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9952877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeriEsle/pseuds/NeriEsle
Summary: Mr. Holmes should be overjoyed that his daughter is alive. But the hurt and betrayal he feels toward Mycroft is unbearable.So he calls the only other person who might understand what he's going through.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just another moment I'm certain took place between the scenes of Series 4.

The first month after learning of Eurus’s continued existence, Mycroft had called his father a staggering four times a week.

And Mr. Holmes had ignored each call.

He didn't want to. He loved his children all the same: unconditionally, immeasurably, and eternally. Yet he simply couldn't muster the strength to respond to his son. Every ring of the phone was a knife to his heart. And he wasn't sure his heart would withstand the release of the grief it fought every second.

And his wife. His poor wife. She never stopped weeping, and her whole frame trembled with grief. The strongest and cleverest and most amazing person he knew was nearly being torn apart in front of him by the weight of her sadness.

After the most unbearable month of his life, Mr. Holmes did the only thing he could think of. He called John Watson.

***

"Hello?"

"Is this John?"

"Yes. Who's this?"

"It's Siger. Siger Holmes.”

“Sigor... oh, Mr. Holmes!” Recognition warmed John’s voice. “How are you?” And sympathy softened it.

Sigor sank onto a chair in his study, taking a silent moment to master himself. John Watson barely had to speak an entire sentence, and already Mr. Holmes felt as if the good doctor was right beside him, holding his hand.

Not for the first time, Sigor Holmes thanked God that his son had found this man.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Mr. Holmes admitted, running a trembling finger over his trembling lip. “I simply didn’t know who else to call.”

“No, no, it’s lovely to hear from you. Sorry... Rosie, no! Put that down... sorry, one moment, Mr. Holmes-”

Mr. Holmes closed his eyes as he heard the phone set down and John’s voice distantly giving a gentle scold. “We don’t. Eat. Bugs. Especially ones bigger than our hand.”

“The taste and odor of the insects from our neighborhood vastly differ from those south of the Thames. It could be beneficial for her to recognize-”

“Yeah, right, _you_ taste the moth then, and tell us where it came from. Should be real informative.”

“Come along, Watson. Daddy’s grumpy when he’s not fed.”

“I’m grumpy when you encourage my daughter to eat bugs rather than squish them like a normal child.”

“Normal is boring.”

“God forbid,” John’s voice was a low grumble, but Mr. Holmes couldn’t detect any real displeasure in it. “Sorry, Mr. Holmes,” John was speaking back into the phone. “Minor crisis averted.”

“No, no, so you’re... where are you?”

“Oh, I’ve escaped to the kitchen. Sherlock and my daughter have taken over my living room with their toys.”

“Experiments, John!” Called a voice in the background.

“Sherlock’s there?” Mr. Holmes confirmed.

“Yep.”

“Is he...” Mr. Holmes tapered off, rubbing his lip with his finger, swallowing through his tight throat, trying not to sound as foolish as he felt. “That is, why... is he...” He felt clouded yet restless, like he couldn’t quite figure the question he so desperately needed to ask, some answer he needed from John, some kind of validation or confirmation, or...

The loud background noises over the phone suddenly faded, and John’s voice came more clear and focused. “I’ve left them to their experiments,” John said. “I’ve stepped out for a moment. Is everything all right, Mr. Holmes?”

Mr. Holmes couldn’t do more than let out a wet chuckle. Maybe it was a sob.

“Ah.” John sighed heavily into the phone. “Yeah. Stupid question. Sorry.”

“Not stupid. Don’t apologize.” He wiped his eyes, even though no one was there to see them.

“How are you holding up? How is Mrs. Holmes?”

Mr. Holmes couldn’t answer.

John filled in the long silence that followed. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what you must be going through.”

“Can’t you?” Mr. Holmes didn’t try to hide the tears in his voice.

“Of course not.”

“You need not be kind, John. I failed them. Somewhere, at some point through the years, I did something that made my children... heartless. I did my best, both Violet and I did, yet still, they persist in lies and manipulation and hurting people without a care or thought to anyone around them.”

“Ah.”

“You understand. I didn’t realize at the time, back when Sherlock jumped... and I do need to apologize, my boy, I truly didn’t realize then... such deception disguised as nobility, I just don’t know how they got it in their heads...” he trailed off, lest his heart burst with pain. “What he put you through for two years, making you watch him take that jump... had Violet and I truly understood, I’d never have let him go through with it. To take you for granted, when you’ve been the saving grace of him, I just...” He dropped his head, suddenly exhausted. “I understand now,” he sighed.

He listened to John’s steady breathing on the other end of the line. It was comforting, knowing he was there, listening, level-headed and experienced in the matter of the Holmes boys. Anyone else, this would be humiliating. Not so with Doctor Watson.

“It took me a long time to forgive him.” John’s voice was quiet. “I thought I had but... I don’t think I really forgave him until a couple months ago, to be honest.”

“Do you? Truly?” Mr. Holmes asked wearily.

“Yes.” John’s voice was firm and certain. “I realized... Sherlock never does anything the normal way, does he?”

“No, he does not.”

“He was trying to protect me. Well, not just me, he did it for me and a few other friends. But... I dunno,” John exhaled. “I know he is sorry. He’s more than made up for it. I understand why he did it now, not that I agree with how he did it. But he’s always been a bit... tactless, hasn’t he?”

“He has,” Mr. Holmes admitted, his voice a wet bubble.

“And he knows never to do anything like that again.” The soldier leaked through in John’s voice. “He wouldn’t. We’re... moving forward.”

“And you can just forget what he did?” Mr. Holmes implored, clutching the phone to his wet face. “Not that I’m asking you to remain angry. I’m grateful you’ve forgiven him, but...” He rubbed his eyes. “How do I do it?”

“Might take some time, Mr. Holmes,” John said, his voice soft with empathy. “God knows it did with me. But... I trust him. I trust him more than I trust anyone in the world. It’s like a wound. It will be fresh if you keep poking it and prodding it. Just let it be and take care of it, even though it hurts like bloody hell... sorry.”

“No, no, go on.”

“Don’t hold on to your anger too long, Mr. Holmes. I learned the hard way. Talk to Mycroft, and be honest. And listen to him. He’s just as tactless as Sherlock, but he’s a good man with an enormous heart.”

Mr. Holmes softly exhaled, his eyes still closed, tear tracks drying on his face.

“Did I tell you he offered to sacrifice himself for me?”

Mr. Holmes’ eyes flew open at that. “Did he?”

“Yeah. I won’t get into the gory details, but there was a moment where Sherlock could only save one of us. And Mycroft tried to make it so Sherlock wouldn’t have to choose between the two of us. He offered himself.”

Mr. Holmes realized he was holding his breath.

“Thank God things worked out, but... that’s when I knew that you raised children with enormous, overflowing hearts, and they sometimes don’t know what to do with all their feelings, you know?”

“I do appreciate the reminder.” Mr. Holmes exhaled again, wiping his face on his sleeve. His tears had stopped, and his chest felt just that much lighter. “Sometimes I forget.”

“An easy mistake.”

“I am truly sorry for the hurt my boys may have caused you.”

“God no, don’t apologize,” John brushed it away. “I’ve hurt Sherlock, too. Hate that I have, but... well, inevitable. Like I said, we’re moving forward.”

“Is he... staying with you?”

“Until his flat is fixed,” John confirmed. “He’s actually a bloody fantastic babysitter, if you’d believe it.”

“I... I’m not sure,” Mr. Holmes chuckled weakly.

“Rosie loves him.” The warmth in his voice implied the second half of that statement. “And I’ve got the room, so... it is what it is.”

“I’m so glad he has you, John,” Mr. Holmes repeated, his heart in his voice.

“I’m very glad to have him, too. If you ever need to talk again, please don’t hesitate to call me.”

“Same to you, my boy.” Mr. Holmes sat up a bit straighter, taking a deep breath. “I hope to meet your baby one day soon.”

“It would be our pleasure.”

Mr. Holmes felt his face warm in a smile.

“John, she’s fussing! She wants to eat the moth!” Mr. Holmes’ younger son’s voice echoed into the phone.

“She’d eat _you_ if you’d fit in her palm. It’s dinnertime. Heat up her food, will you?”

“Don’t know how she can abide another night of mashed peas,” Sherlock’s voice was low with disdain.

“I’ll mash your peas,” John muttered. “Oh... sorry Mr. Holmes,” he stammered into the phone.

“No, no, go on, feed your children.” Mr. Holmes felt his smile break into a grin as he heard Sherlock’s unencumbered laughter in the background. “It was lovely talking to you. Thank you, John.”

“Ta, Mr. Holmes. Speak soon.”

Setting down his phone, Mr. Holmes sat still in his chair for several long moments, running his steady finger over his lip again. For the first time in a month, the sound echoing in his head was not his wife’s weeping; it was his younger son’s easy, genuine, unburdened laughter mixing with John’s fond chiding and the child’s delighted squeals.

For the first time in one month, Mr. Holmes felt hope.


End file.
